Black Tiger, White Eagle Part 1
by WTFTranslation
Summary: Professor Aronnax accepts the offer of Captain Nemo to become a member of the crew of the Nautilus and briefly returns to Paris to settle his affairs and arrange the fate of Conseil. However, Colonel Spencer has very different plans. Sequel to The Chariot of Jagannath. UST, Pre-Slash. Translation from original Russian fic by 'Kerisa'.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Pre-Slash, UST. NOTE: This is an amateur translation of the original Russian fanfic 'Черный тигр, белый орел' authored by Kerisa (wtf_jules_verne). It has been translated with Kerisa's permission. Some minimal wording has been changed for the benefit of ease of reading for English readers however, I hope that I have done this marvelous fic justice in my translation.

Chapter 1:

It's strange, but I hardly remember the journey from Le Havre to Paris. I cannot recall the faces of my fellow travellers, the towns we passed, nor the stations where we stopped. I was completely immersed in my thoughts and almost completely detached from what was happening around me.

My whole previous life was lying empty and turned inside out in front of me, like the shed skin from a shimmering snake. Two weeks ago, I was travelling to Le Havre as Professor Aronnax of the Paris Museum of Natural History, and I was returning to Paris as a member of the Nautilus crew to settle my affairs on land. Just a few words spoken by Captain Nemo had changed my destiny completely.

"You can stay on the Nautilus in you want," he'd told me.

Two years ago, such a proposal would have made me hesitate, but now I made my decision the minute I heard it. The year that had passed, in which I believed that I would never again see the submarine or it's captain, had taught me a lot. I was unhappy, and I realised, like being stabbed with a knife, but really it was more gradual – that my life lacked joy and meaning, I passed my days mechanically one after the other. I have already experienced this emptiness, and it seemed to me too much like death. To refuse Captain Nemo's proposal meant for me to die again.

I remembered the warmth of his palm when he extended his hand to me and said: "Come back, Monsieur Aronnax."

"I will wait for your letter, Mister Dakkar," I had replied.

And so, I went to Paris to finish my earthly affairs.

As it turned out there were fewer of them than I had thought. I had to finish the book detailing our underwater journey, dispose of my property and take care of the fate of Conseil. It was Conseil and how I would explain things to him that consumed my thoughts as the train approached Paris.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I almost ordered the cab driver to my address. Remembering myself, I dismissed the annoyed little man, left my luggage at the station and, taking an obscure route, entered my home through the back door.

I was tormented with a vague anxiety. I felt that I had made a mistake somewhere, but I could not think when and where.

* * *

Unlocking the door, Conseil shone so clearly with happiness that it prickled me with guilt.

"Monsieur Professor!" He exclaimed, taking my hat. "You're back!"

"Of course, I came back," I replied. "How are you? Were there many visitors?"

Conseil opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something else, but he immediately took his usual calm look, brought a letter holder and started telling me who came, and when, to check on my health. Among the many letters from my friends and colleagues, including the director himself, I found letters from the literary editor, polishing the text of my novel, from a doctor whose services I occasionally used, and a couple of particularly annoying journalists, and several other people whose names I did not recognise.

"Everyone is very worried about the health of the professor," continued Conseil. "Monsieur Bonnet, Monsieur's doctor, insisted that I let him examine Monsieur. I'm afraid he found me impolite."

I took a deep breath.

"Thank-you, Conseil. And I'm sorry I made you lie."

"Let Monsieur not be anxious or worry," my servant replied. And then asked: "Is Mademoiselle Ishwari ok?"

"Sick, but will be ok, I took care of it."

Conseil looked questioningly at me, and I felt my heart weighed down with guilt. I had never kept secrets from Conseil and trusted him completely, but knowing that Captain Nemo's daughter was with d'Orbigny could be too risky for him.

Conseil lowered his eyes. Of course, he understood, he was a clever fellow.

Trying to dissipate the silence, I began to give orders – to warm the water so I could bathe and change clothes, then to collect my luggage from Saint-Lazare Station. While Conseil was filling the pot in the kitchen, I went into my office and collapsed at my desk. The feeling of detachment that accompanied me on my way to Paris came back with vengeance: this room was familiar to me to the last detail, to the slightest crack in the ceiling, but I no longer felt it was mine.

"The bath will be ready in twenty minutes," said my servant, peering into the office.

"Thank you, Conseil," I replied.

He clearly avoided looking at me, and I again felt another pang of guilt and regret. I did not want to part with him like this. All the past years, he did not just serve me – he became a reliable and loyal friend. He was entitled to my frankness.

"Don't go," I said. "We need to talk."

"Whatever pleases Monsieur," Conseil answered in a shaking voice.

I fiddled with a paperweight, collecting my thoughts.

"Perhaps in a few months, Captain Nemo will write to me. And if that happens, I will leave and will not return. You've been my servant and good friend for twelve years, and I will make sure your life is as good as possible and that need does not force you into the service of someone else. Think, what would you like to do? I won't need money on the Nautilus, so I can transfer at your disposal enough money to buy a house in the suburbs of Paris or even start your own business. Or, if you wish, I will recommend you to the Director of the Museum of Natural History as an assistant to any of the professors. You are well versed in the classification of marine organisms, you are attentive and careful, and I am certain you will do a great job in this line of work. If you do not want office work, I will write to Mister Leicester, the organiser of our expedition to Nebraska, and ask him to take you as an assistant. He spoke about you very commendably, and I am sure he will be glad to work with you again."

Somewhere in the middle of my speech, Conseil raised his head and now looked me straight in the eye.

"I'd like to continue to accompany Monsieur," he said firmly. "…but if that is not possible, then I would prefer to stay in Paris and work in the Museum. And to keep Monsieur's apartment intact. Perhaps the day will come when Monsieur will want to return."

It was apparent to me that Conseil had thought about this a lot in my absence – he gave his answer too quickly and he was too detailed.

"It is unlikely I will wish to return," I said, pushing the inkwell closer to the paperweight.

I suddenly realised that I didn't know how to explain to Conseil my desire to stay on the Nautilus without giving myself away. I did not want to lie to him, but to tell him the truth was unthinkable for me.

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"You see…" I finally said, and then fell silent again.

"Monsieur, there is no need to explain anything," Conseil suddenly interrupted the prolonged pause. "I understand."

"What do you understand?" I asked sharply.

"Monsieur from the very beginning wanted to stay on the Nautilus. Monsieur would never have left if it were not for Ned Land…and if Captain Nemo had not sunk that ship, the Bristol. Monsieur has never cried, not once in twelve years, but when he heard about the death of the family of Captain Nemo – he cried. Over the past year, Monsieur has not smiled five times. I understand."

I looked at my servant, anxiously waiting for him to continue, but he did not delve into a dangerous topic.

"However, even Monsieur professor cannot predict all the turns of fate. I would prefer to keep the apartment of Monsieur intact," he stubbornly finished.

Suddenly a new thought painfully struck me.

"Well, so be it," I said slowly. "Captain Nemo only suggested that I complete my round-the-word underwater journey. Probably, when we have visited all the oceans of the Earth, he will wish to convey through me the information collected to world science. And then I, of course, will be back. It is unlikely that our journey will take too much time. A year and a half or two."

"Yes, Mister Dakkar no longer has to worry about keeping his secret," said Conseil, clearly cheering up. "And it would be very kind of him to share with the world the scientific discoveries he has made."

I took a deep breath.

"Well, it's decided. Tomorrow I will start receiving visitors again, and when I return to the Museum, I will talk with the director about an assistant's place for you. You are more than worthy to hold this position."

Monsieur is very kind," murmured Conseil, and I realised that he was pleased.

* * *

The next few days I had a very tedious task – portraying a man who had barely recovered from a serious illness. Conseil laid me on the sofa in the living room, and I received visitors, dressed in a bathrobe. The curtains on the windows had to be drawn tight, otherwise I would not be able to hide my healthy look from visitors.

The rumour that I was recovering spread quickly and in two days I had received over a dozen visitors. I assured everyone that I was already much better and there was no danger to my life. On the third day I was examined by my doctor, Monsieur Jean-Baptiste Bonnet, who concluded that I was completely recovered.

I returned to the Museum of Natural History and spent several days attending to matters that had accumulated over the two weeks of my absence. I then asked for a meeting with the director of the Museum and said that in connection with my poor health, I wanted to leave Paris and live in the Countryside for a year or so while I worked on a new book. I recommended Conseil for an assistant's position, vouching for his accuracy, hard work and excellent knowledge of the classification of marine organisms. I promised to finish 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea' before my departure.

In short, I made all the mistakes I could make.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

The days flowed one after another in an ordinary and familiar way, as if nothing had changed. Every morning, I had breakfast in the café on the corner of Saint-Marcel Boulevard and Jeanne d'Arc. They served excellent croissants with fruit jam and the coffee was brewed by an actual Moroccan; Monsieur Salem. In addition, the owner of the café subscribed to "Figaro", "Journal des Débats", "Monitor" and several cheaper newspapers, so that visitors could read all the latest news over a cup of coffee. In the mornings, it was not crowed, and I usually had breakfast alone at my favourite table by the window.

On the morning of July 27th, 1870, I was sipping my coffee when a tall young man in a light grey suit approached my table and said, in French, but with a noticeable Polish accent:

"Good morning, Monsieur Aronnax. If I may, I will tell you a story."

And, without waiting for my consent, he sat down opposite me.

At first, I was a bit scared. I vividly remembered my abduction by the people of Colonel Spencer and did not expect anything good to come of this unexpected acquaintance. My vis-à-vis was thin, but rather broad-shouldered, and his movements were not distinguished by the stiffness of a man who spends his days at a desk.

"I have no honour to know your name," I said coldly.

"My name is Tadeusz Krasnovsky," he said calmly. "So, the story. On the 12th of April 1863, in the forest near the town of Rawicz, two people stood facing each other with pistols in their hands. One of them was Stephen Bobrovsky, the head of the Executive Commission of the Provisional National Government of Poland. The second was Count Adam Grabowsky, a Poznan landowner. Bobrovsky was extremely short-sighted and never shot a pistol, Grabowsky was an experienced duellist. The bullet fired by Grabowsky hit Stephen Bobrovsky right in the heart, killing him instantly."

I looked at my companion in surprise. Of course, I heard about Stephen Bobrovsky and his tragic death – the French newspapers had addressed it with great care and sympathy, describing the vicissitudes of the Polish uprising. However, what does all that have to do with me?

"The formal reason for Grabowsky's challenge was that Bobrovsky, the only one of all of them, did not give him his hand at a secret meeting; and hence Grabowsky was offended. Three weeks earlier, Grabowsky impersonated an authorized representative of the Provisional National Government and had done everything to hand over the leadership of the uprising to the dictator Marian Langiewicz. This almost split the Polish uprising – just at the moment when it was vital to preserve its unity and cohesion. The Code of Honour did not oblige Count Grabowsky to strive for the death of his "offender". A simple exchange of shots, which were not to cause harm to the participants, also answered the requirements of the Code. But the "offence" taken by Grabowsky was just a cover for a political assassination, and it was not difficult to guess who directed the killer's hand. After the death of Stephen, the leadership of the Polish uprising was captured by the White Wing."

Now, I listened to Monsieur Krasnovsky more with curiosity than with fear, and with no less curiosity I was studying him myself. He was around twenty-five years old, and he looked like either a student, or an artist, or a reporter – and at the same time he was definitely like no one else. His thin expressive face was distinguished by a strange, sickly beauty which seemed both dreamy and dreary. But his greenish-grey eyes looked hard and unkind. Danger breathed off him, but what danger, I could not ascertain.

"So, for the whole world Stephen Bobrovsky died April 12th, 1863. For the world – but not for himself and not for his friends. Grabowsky's bullet went close to his heart, seriously wounding Stephen, almost fatally – but not killing him. A member of the Executive Commission, Agathon Giller, who knew about the duel and had a hand in it, warned one of Bobrovsky's friends. He rushed after him but could not prevent the duel. All he managed to do was convince Bobrovsky's second, Count Krasitsky, to pronounce Stephen dead, in order to protect him from further attempts on his life by the "Whites". The coffin was buried empty.

"For several months, Stephen Bobrovsky was between life and death. The bullet wound somehow healed, but inflammation began, followed by pneumonia due to the dampness and torrential rain in autumn. Finally, his friends were able to ferry Bobrovsky to Wallachia, and from there to Greece. In Greece, Stephen recovered…but then he disappeared…along with his companions.'

"You think the killers got to them anyway?" I couldn't resist asking.

"No," Krasnovsky answered slowly, and his eyes became heavy. "I spent six years doing hard labour as penal servitude, Monsieur Aronnax. First in Tobol, then in the freezing cold of Slyudyanka. Do you know what winter is like in Siberia? Your lungs burn with each breath, your eyelashes stick together from frost, and spit reaches the ground already frozen. But worse than that, there is no news for months. No books, no newspapers, nothing. As if you have already died and your soul is forever forgotten in the emptiness between hell and heaven. Some went crazy from it, some turned to drink. And the rest began to believe the rumours. The most ridiculous, which no reasonable person would believe."

He looked around quickly, without changing his posture, without even turning his head – his gaze slipped across the café with an unpleasant, chaste, thieving look – and then snapped back to me. The grey eyes were now as green as a cat's.

"So, there was only one rumour among the convicts. About a man who had lost not only his homeland, but also his family and friends, who had been living in vengeance ever since. He had built a ship that was able to sail not only on the seas, but also underwater, like the 'Flying Dutchman'. And that he recruits people for his team who have nothing else to lose. They said that many of our people didn't actually die but went to sea on that ship. Like warriors worthy of the halls of Valhalla. And Stephen Bobrovsky among them."

I felt a cold frustration sweep over me similar to what I experienced during Colonel Spencer's interrogation. So, we are once again talking about the Nautilus, which meant that an enemy was sitting in front of me. He looked a little like a British agent, but maybe now I was dealing with an intelligence agent of the Russian Empire?

"A very interesting story, Monsieur Krasnovsky," I said politely. "But the one thing I don't understand is what this has to do with me?"

"You were on that ship," said Krasnovsky, leaning forward.

"You are mistaken." I said coldly, rising. "I can't say anything about the 'Flying Dutchman', halls of Valhalla, or the fate of Stephen Bobrovsky. It was nice to meet you, Monsieur Krasnovsky, but I have to go."

I was afraid that he would follow me, but he stayed at the table, and as I walked to the door, it seemed to me that his gaze was burning through the back of my head.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

All day my thoughts involuntarily returned to Tadeusz Krasnovsky and the story he told. I did not believe him. Our very acquaintance, the confidence with which he held himself, his arrogance and his thieves' glance made me anxious. I was worried that I was being pulled back into a web of sophisticated deceit. I doubted that Krasnovsky acted independently, but who was behind him? Colonel Spencer? Tsarist Russia? Secret terrorist organisation of Polish political prisoners? I was equally scared of all the options. With all my heart I wanted to be left alone – and at the same time I realised it was futile. As long as the Nautilus sailed the seas, I would inevitably attract the predatory interest of those who are trying to get hold of it.

However, by late afternoon my thoughts travelled in a different direction. I was thinking about Stephen, Captain Nemo's First Mate, and involuntarily wondered if he could really be Stephen Bobrovsky. Stephen did not know French, and spoke English poorly, during my first stay on the submarine, we did not say a word to each other, and, during my second stay, we exchanged hardly a dozen phrases. All my knowledge of him was based on fragmentary observations. I did not even know his nationality! However, I saw he was strong willed and self-confident, distinguished by his lively character and a kind of gloomy humour. The crew obeyed him without question. Stephen was almost an equal to Captain Nemo, who recognised this. The more I though about the First Mate of the Nautilus, the more it seemed to me that he could well lead the Polish uprising.

By the end of the day, I was unable to settle due to my burning curiosity. Did Tadeusz Krasnovsky lie about Stephen Bobrovsky, or was he telling the truth? There was only one way to find out before I returned to the Nautilus – find a portrait of Bobrovsky in the files of old newspapers. At least I could make sure that this is a completely different person!

After leaving the museum, I went to the City Library, where I had a subscription, and took the files of the largest French newspapers for 1863. I noted any references to the Polish uprising, its leaders, Stephen Bobrovsky and the circumstances of his death. In two hours, I had written up a few dozen pages in my notebook – the French press has eagerly covered the tragic events. Finally, in the Journal des débats I found what I was looking for – a photographic portrait of a short, skinny man in light trousers and a dark coat, moustached, with a long nose and a tense look. I recognised him instantly!

So Krasnovsky did not lie. Stephen Bobrovsky did not really die but became the First Mate to the Captain of the Nautilus.

When I left the City Library, it was already beginning to get dark. I decided to walk home to try and get rid of the tension I felt and clear my head. Captain Nemo's life, which he had always jealously guarded from me, began to unfold before me. I had almost no doubt that the Nautilus crew consisted of revolutionaries who had been defeated and dedicated their lives to revenge. In addition to Stephen Bobrovsky, there were other Poles in the crew of the submarine. I remembered Zbigniew, the giant of a man Krzysztof, and another crew member who was obviously Slavic in appearance, then I thought about the nationalities of the others. Alas, with the numerous disturbances that shook Europe and America in the last quarter of a century there was a lot of room for speculations and conjectures.

Now Tadeusz Krasnovsky's story seemed much more plausible to me than it had this morning. It is impossible to call forty people to you without leaving a trace for legends and rumours. If Captain Nemo had gone to sea, cutting off any ties with the land, these legends would have remained just that – legends. But after our escape, after Ned Land's interview – every port boy knew about the Nautilus. How do people who languish in prison, straining from hard labour, who live in exile far from their homeland, family and friends, perceive a formidable submarine? As a banner of their struggle, as hope, if not for a victory, then at least retribution?

* * *

When I crossed the threshold of my apartment, it turned out Conseil had been beside himself with worry for three hours and had almost gone to the police. I usually told him if I would be back late, and he had almost convinced himself that I had been kidnapped again.

To drown out the involuntary feeling of guilt, I told Conseil about my morning meeting with Tadeusz Krasnovsky and about my research at the City Library. Contrary to my expectations, my faithful fellow did not calm down, but became even more agitated.

"If Monsieur will allow me to express my opinion, then I would turn this Polish thug over to the police!"

"On what basis, Conseil?" I smiled. "What he sat down at my table without permission? Yes, he can be blamed with rudeness, but there is no crime here. As you know, he did not have a chance to polish his manners at the Siberian labour camp."

"But he somehow tracked down Monsieur!"

"It's not a difficult task; I have breakfast in that café every morning."

"But if he shows up again?"

"If he appears again, I will try to find out what he wants from me."

Conseil pursed his lips disapprovingly – apparently, he thought I was being too complacent.

"And if Monsieur is kidnapped again?"

"If I'm kidnapped, it's not Tadeusz Krasnovsky," I said seriously. "For those who are plotting a kidnapping, there is no point in alerting me with a conversation, after which I would obviously be on my guard."

Conseil did not argue with me, but I saw that he remained unconvinced.

The next morning, I was almost waiting for Tadeusz Krasnovsky to appear, but he did not. Nor did he appear in the following days. Every morning, when leaving home, I looked around the boulevard, first fearing, and then hoping to see a tall figure in a light grey suit. But in was in vain. A week later, I was sorry to have cut our conversation short so abruptly.

And in fact, what did I risk by listening to Krasnovsky? He did not ask me any questions, and I wouldn't say anything that could hurt Captain Nemo or his crew. It was Krasnovsky himself who had given me the secret for which the Tsarist government could pay dearly. Of course, I was well aware that he did not just desire to make acquaintance with me – he certainly had some kind of goal. Make sure Stephen Bobrovsky is really alive? Have me pass a message to him or get news from him for his family? Or – perhaps – a trick to find out if I am in touch with Captain Nemo?

I decided that as long as my mouth was shut, I had nothing to fear. However, the dull anxiety that gripped me after returning to Paris had not gone away. On the contrary, it intensified every day.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

On Saturday, August 5th, after breakfast, I was in my office looking through the proofs of my book when the bell by the hallway rung. I heard the click of an opening door, unintelligible voices, and then Conseil appeared at the office door with a stony expression.

"Mr Krasnovsky is here to see Monsieur."

I confess, I was glad.

"Show him in."

Krasnovsky was still in the same light grey suit – apparently his only one. It seemed to me that in the past nine days his face had become even thinner. He walked silently into my office, gazed attentively around the room, then slid to the window and, from behind the curtain, looked at the boulevard.

"Good morning, Monsieur Krasnovsky," I said softly.

He backed away from the window and finally looked at me.

"Good morning, Professor Aronnax. Do you know that your house is being watched?"

"By who?"

"At least two professional spies."

"Are you sure they are watching me, not you?"

"I am sure. I wouldn't bring a tail."

He came up to my desk and, without invitation, sat down on the chair across from me.

"So?" I said.

"Monsieur Aronnax, do you know anything about self-propelled underwater mines, also called torpedoes?"

I decided not to be surprised.

"Yes, Monsieur Krasnovsky. Torpedoes were invented by English engineer Robert Whitehead, patented by him in 1866, and in 1868 were adopted by the Austro-Hungarian military fleet."

He raised his eyebrows.

"For a bookworm, studying marine life, you are well aware."

I did not tell him about the source of my knowledge. I first heard about torpedoes in the United States, but most of my information about them was provided to me by Francois d'Orbigny. I spent many winter evenings with him discussing various technical innovations – my friend, an excellent engineer, told me about them with knowledge and enthusiasm.

"Besides the Whitehead company, the Russians are also engaged in the development and improvement of torpedoes," my guest said gloomily. "Have you heard anything about Ivan Fedorovich Aleksandrovskiy?"

I shook my head.

"He is the court photographer of the Russian Tsar and in his spare time is also an inventor. They say he designed the torpedo before even Whitehead, in 1865. And if Whitehead torpedoes have a speed of seven knots, and a range of no more than seven hundred yards, then Aleksandrovskiy's torpedoes are several times faster, and their range reaches one and a half thousand yards."

"Very interesting. And what does that imply?"

Krasnovsky slowly rose to his feet.

"It implies that the very first Russian cruiser, that meets the Nautilus at sea, will sink it."

We silently looked at each other.

"You exaggerate," I finally said. "Do not forget that the range of the modern artillery with conical cores exceeds five miles, the speed of these shells is incomparable with the speed of the torpedoes, but so far, the Nautilus has not only not sunk, but has not even been damaged."

"Not for long," Krasnovsky said grimly. "I have information that this fall the Russians will test new prototypes, the speed of which can reach forty-four knots, and the weight of the warhead will be two hundred and twenty pounds. Two hundred and twenty pounds of explosives, Monsieur Aronnax! I don't want Stephen and his comrades drowned like kittens in a bucket! We have to warn him, and if we can, stop the tests."

"How, dare I ask?"

It seemed to me that Krasnovsky was embarrassed for a moment.

"You could give this information to Captain Nemo," he said. "I will provide all the material. I will give you the place and time of the tests. Maybe even get the blueprints."

_So, we finally get to the bottom of it, _I thought.

"Monsieur Krasnovsky, if I tell you that I have no connection with Captain Nemo, you will certainly not believe me. So, let's be honest. I don't believe you either. First, you tell me about the secret fantastic miracle weapon of the Russians, and then you promise, like a rabbit from a hat, to pull out their drawings and tell me the time and place of the tests. How, may I ask? Are you a medium? Did you enter the mind of the engineer Aleksandrovskiy? Or, more likely, you just work for the Tsarist government?"

Krasnovsky clenched his jaw so hard that his lips turned white, and his eyes blazed with a fierce anger.

"Me, work for the Tsarist government? I'd rather hang myself with my own guts!" he said.

"Then who do you work for, Monsieur Krasnovsky?" I asked as calmly as I could.

To be honest, I felt very uncomfortable. I felt like an Indian, floating in a fragile canoe along the rapids. The "Polish thug", as Conseil called him, was completely transformed – his face had turned pale, in his eyes flashed lightning, his entire appearance breathed burning hatred. I had to gather all of my composure not to look away.

"For myself, Monsieur Aronnax. And for my homeland," Krasnovsky finally answered.

"Then we will take a step back. Where did you get the information about the Russian torpedoes?"

He took several deeps breaths, clearly regaining his composure, then looked at me unkindly.

"Have you heard anything about the Russian underground organisation 'Narodnaya Volya'?"

"No," I replied.

"Then how do I explain to you how I know about the torpedoes?"

"Don't you think that we have reached an impasse, Monsieur Krasnovsky?"

"It seems."

He walked back and forth around the office.

"If I had known at least one other way to convey the information about Aleksandrovskiy's torpedoes to Stephen, I would not have approached you, Monsieur Aronnax," my guest said bitterly a moment later.

He suddenly seemed to me much younger, twenty years old, no more. His jacket was hanging on him like a hanger, and his pants were too loose. It occurred to me that he might not be eating. I felt both disturbed by and compassion for this strange man.

"Alright, Monsieur Aronnax," Krasnovsky suddenly turned to me. "I won't take up any more of your time. Goodbye."

He flung the office door open, and after a few seconds, I heard the click of the front door. Going to the window, I saw him leave the porch and quickly headed down the boulevard.

Returning to my desk, I looked at the proofs with my editor's edits – and for a couple of seconds I couldn't remember what I was working on.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Another month passed, full of work and trouble. I finished making the editorial corrections to my novel 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea' and gave it to the printing house. I ordered my banker to continue paying Conseil his salary and signed a power of attorney for him to manage my apartment. I paid farewell visits to my closest friends and acquaintances, telling them that I was going to live by myself in a Normandy village for a couple of years, to improve my health and work on a new book.

At the beginning of September, Conseil started working at the Museum of Natural History. As I expected, the duties of an assistant were not difficult for him, and he soon won favour for his diligence, accuracy and easy-going character. Now, we left the house together and returned together, and I noticed that he was a lot less anxious. I think he imagined himself as my bodyguard!

Tadeusz Krasnovsky did not make any appearance; I don't know whether this made me happy or upset. I still did not trust him. Even if he was sincere in his desire to help the Nautilus crew or Stephen Bobrovsky himself - who had provided him with the information and what game did he play? A quick search in the newspapers for references to the Narodnaya Volya organisation did not lead anywhere, and I had no Russian acquaintances.

There was now not much time left before Captain Nemo would contact me and as that time became less and less, the more nervous I was and the more difficult it was to endure the wait. I was tormented by bad feelings. I was afraid that the captain would not call me, or that unforeseen circumstances would prevent me from responding to his call. Sometimes, life seemed to me a long jump over the abyss – with one side crumbling away beneath my feet and the other shrouded in fog.

* * *

On the evening of the 9th of September, I was in my office trying to read Dickens' new novel. It was raining, and the window was slightly open, smelling of wet pavement. Rain drummed down on the windowsill and sometimes the sound was intertwined with the clattering of hooves and the rattle of wheels of passing cabs.

Suddenly, all these sounds were overtaken by one – someone knocked on the back door. I put down the book. Conseil walked down the hallway by the office quickly. I heard a surprised exclamation, the click of the door shutting – and then the office door opened, and Tadeusz Krasnovsky appeared before me – thinner, soaked through, but with burning eyes.

"Professor, I got the blueprints!"

I silently rose to meet him. I did not know whether to laugh or cry. He looked awful – his hair was dripping, his jacket was drenched, a feverish blush glowed on his pale cheeks, but his face shone with triumph.

"Conseil," I said. "Please prepare a hot bath of Monsieur Krasnovsky."

The young Pole's face reflected his bewilderment.

"If you don't immediately take a hot bath and change into dry clothes, you will get seriously ill. I'm telling you as a former doctor."

"It will be ready in a quarter of an hour," Conseil said calmly and disappeared.

Krasnovsky frowned.

"Monsieur Aronnax, I don't need your concern. But I finally got the information I was telling you about. Tests of Aleksandroskiy's torpedoes will begin on October 15th in Karkinitsky Bay in the Black Sea. The corvette 'Falcon' will conduct the firing."

"Very well," I said, taking out a decanter of cognac from the bureau and pouring a full shot. "Drink up."

Krasnovsky looked at me irritably.

"Monsieur Aronnax, can you hear me at all?"

"I can hear you perfectly. Torpedo tests will begin on the 15th of October in the Karkinitsky Bay. Can you hear me? Do you want to earn pneumonia?"

Krasnovsky glanced down at his feet, where a small puddle had leaked from his shoes on the floor, took a deep breath and took the glass.

"Thank you," he grunted.

After the cognac he immediately unwound – his shoulders fell, his eyes slightly defocused. He was probably hungry but likely didn't realise it because of his exaggerated state of mind. I thought about which one of the neighbourhood cafes would let him in like this – and I took a deep breath myself.

"I won't give you the blueprints, just show you," said Krasnovsky.

"Don't, I won't understand them anyway."

He looked at me with a bitter smile.

"You see, I do not even ask you if you will pass this information to Captain Nemo and Stephen Bobrovsky."

"And you are doing it right."

"But you will pass it on?"

"We have agreed that you will not ask."

He leaned his hand on the table. Apparently, the room around him was already slightly spinning.

"I shouldn't have drunk your cognac," muttered Krasnovsky.

"It was necessary to. After the bath, you will drink more and go to bed on the sofa in the living room. Your clothes are still completely wet, and you can't wear them."

It seemed that he was going to argue, but I did not find out what he was going to say as he settled for shaking his head in silence.

Conseil looked into the office and announced that the bath was ready. We walked down the hallway to the kitchen, where there was a tub filled with water behind the screen and everything was ready for bathing. Without looking at me, Krasnovsky pulled off his jacket and shirt and I saw long transverse scars on his thin, sinewy back – once, he was beaten with whips and very severely.

I did not look further as he undressed and went back to my office.

An hour later, Tadeusz Krasnovsky was already sound asleep on the sofa, wrapped in my old robe and covered with a woollen blanket. Conseil hung his clothes up to dry, remembering to look in all his pockets. Of course, there were no blueprints. There wasn't even any money – Krasnovsky didn't even have change for one Franc.

I felt sorry for him, but I still didn't trust him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

Finally, the day came I had been waiting for so eagerly and so impatiently. On September 23rd, a messenger came and brought a letter from Captain Nemo. Just like last time, it consisted of only one line: 'In the same place, October 1st, one o'clock in the morning'.

I looked at the note for a few minutes until it was imprinted in my memory down to the last curl of the letters, then I took a candle and burned the envelope. Conseil stood silently beside me and watched as the thick paper crumbled and burned to ash. He knew what this meant. We both knew.

That same day, I sent Conseil to Saint-Lazare Station to buy one first-class ticket to Le Havre. In the evening, he packed my luggage for a week-long trip. I was going to arrive in Le Havre in advance and travel through the surrounding villages, as if choosing a house for myself so that my subsequent disappearance did not look too suspicious.

I did not want to completely lose touch with Conseil, and I promised that I would, as far as possible, write to him as if from the village, as much as I could. In case there was a need to communicate something important, which could not be expressed allegorically, we agreed on a cipher. If I mentioned Archangélica officínalis (Note: this is also known as garden angelica or wild celery) in the letter, then, starting from the next paragraph, only every tenth letter should be read.

My faithful fellow said that he would wait for my return, and I silently hugged him, because I knew that I would not return.

* * *

The next morning, I left the house through the back door, as I had on more than one occasion. I did not know if I was really being watched, as Tadeusz Krasnovski claimed, and if so, who exactly. Perhaps the surveillance was a figment of his imagination, perhaps the French police were watching me for protection, but there was a good chance that the spies were enemies, so I could not risk it. I wandered through dirty, crooked streets, walked through shops, tried to disappear around corners more often – and, like three months ago, arrived at Saint-Lazare Station just a few minutes before the train left.

There was a piercing whistle, the wheels began to turn, and the train started off, taking me from Paris and my former life forever.

I spent a couple of hours alone, sitting by the window and gazing thoughtlessly at the landscapes passing by. Then, there was a sharp knock at the door to my compartment. I unlocked in automatically, and saw, to my amazement, Tadeusz Krasnovski.

He rather unceremoniously pushed me inside, slipped into the compartment and slammed the door.

I felt as if icy water had been poured over me.

"Monsieur Krasnovski, this is really overstepping all boundaries!" I cried out.

"Shut up, Professor," he said in a low voice, turning to me. He eyes glowed feverishly. "Be silent and listen. You were followed from the house, there are at least two spies on the train, perhaps more. One is in this carriage. He saw me, which complicates things. When it gets dark, I'll snap his neck and throw him off the train, we'll lose the others. You have a ticket to Le Havre, right? When the train slows down, we'll jump, and we'll hire horses. Do you ride well?"

"Monsieur Krasnovski, you're mad!" I also lowered my voice. "What spies are you talking about? And what horses? So far, I only see one spy – you! How did you even track me down?"

He chuckled darkly.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Aronnax, but in subterfuge, you're not even an amateur, rather, a child playing Indian. First, your servant buys a ticket to Le Havre, and then you run around Paris with a bag in your hand. And where do you think this winding rope should lead to, don't you think, the station?"

I felt like a fool.

"So, you followed Conseil?"

"And not just me, unfortunately."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

I sat down and rubbed my forehead. I was too stunned to think clearly. Indeed, it was foolish to ask Krasnovski about the reasons for the surveillance, my pursuers could only have one goal, I knew this perfectly well, the Nautilus.

"Who do you work for, Monsieur Krasnovski?" I asked, raising my eyes to him again.

"You've already asked," he said quietly. "For myself and for Poland. If you prefer – Stephen Bobrovski. Don't worry, it's in my interest to take you to the Nautilus in one piece. Unlike those who follow you," he nodded towards the door of the compartment.

"And who is following me? Well, except for you, of course."

I thought that he hesitated as if he didn't know whether to tell me the truth or not, but he still answered:

"I can't guarantee it but think it's the British. I heard them say a few words in English. But maybe Americans. Not the French for sure."

I felt like my heard was seized by an icy hand. Now I really was scared. For a few moments, I felt like a fly heading straight for a spider's web. Would I have to meet Colonel Spencer again?

"So, now what?" I snapped.

"I already told you what we will do. At night we will jump off the train and get to Le Havre on horseback. Do you have any money on you?"

"Yes, three hundred Francs."

"Alright, that's enough." Krasnovski stepped toward the door, then turned back to me. "Lock the door, don't open it for anyone. When I get rid of the spies, I will knock like this."

He knocked on the wooden panel once, then, after a pause, twice more, and then took hold of the door handle.

"No, wait!" I exclaimed. I admit, my head was spinning. "Are you going to kill him?"

"No, I will give him a rose and ask him to dance," said Krasnovski sarcastically.

"You are crazy!"

"Professor, don't be an idiot," something wolfish appeared in the face of the Polish man. "These are spies. If they know we have caught onto them, they will grab us as soon as we are in Le Havre. And then you will regret that you were born."

"No, Monsieur Krasnovski," I said decisively. "I forbid you to kill anyone, especially because of me. If it's really the British, they will not dare attack us in Le Havre in broad daylight. We will keep to crowed places, and if it becomes necessary, ask the police for help."

The almost frightening excitement on his face was wiped out by a dark grin.

"I thought you didn't have the balls for it, Mister Bookworm," he said.

My head stopped spinning, and my analytical abilities returned. Meeting Colonel Spencer terrified me, but what if Krasnovski was intentionally trying to cause that fear in order to put me in the hands of another intelligence agency – or God knows who else? All his words about surveillance and spies were just that – words – and I had yet to see a single spy except for him. For the moment, I was travelling in a comfortable car surrounded by other law abiding passengers, under the protection of the conductor and some security. Where, in his hands I would find myself jumping off the train at night in a completely unfamiliar place.

"If you really want to help me, first of all, don't break the law," I said looking him in the eye as confidently as possible. "I don't want to be accused of murder upon arrival in Le Havre and this will inevitably happen if they find a body and I'm the only passenger who is not on the train. The French police may seem clumsy at times, but when it comes to murder, I assure you, they are very agile."

Krasnovski looked at me in silence, his face expressionless.

"Well," he said at last, "then you will regret it, and it will be too late," and he slipped out of the compartment. I carefully locked the door behind him and thought that I would take one piece of advice from him – I wouldn't open the door to anyone else.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

I spent the rest of the day plagued with anxiety and doubt. The ease with which Krasnovski tracked me down, overturned all my plans. Now, our past meetings appeared before me in a completely different light. In Paris, it seemed to me that in talking with him I did not risk anything – Krasnovski alone shared information, but I did not tell him anything. But now, I realised that in those meetings Krasnovski was able to ascertain I was in contact with the Nautilus. And now, we were on the same train to Le Havre and I had only a few days to knock the stubborn Pole off my trail.

By evening, I was starving. Sitting locked up in my compartment was all well and good, but I could not outrun the spies weak from hunger. I decided to go to the dinning car and waited by my door for some time, waiting for several people to walk down the corridor at once. My trick was quite successful – I got to the dinning car unhindered, had dinner in the company of the other passengers, none of whom seemed suspicious to me, and then returned to my compartment. No one, at least bit like a spy came to my attention and Tadeusz Krasnovski did not appear.

Before going to bed, I additionally blocked the sliding door with an umbrella so it could not be forced open. I slept badly with fragmented dreams, often waking up and listening to the wheels chugging and the creaks and rustles that filled the car.

* * *

On September the 25th, at ten o'clock in the morning, the train arrived in Le Havre. It was a cloudy, grey day, with a heavy, low sky sowing fine rain, like mist.

I was one of the first to leave the carriage. I stepped onto the platform, opened my umbrella and almost immediately saw Tadeusz Krasnovski.

He was standing on the platform, looking at the passengers leave, as if looking to meet someone. He never looked at me, but I had no doubt that he saw me, nor did I doubt that he would follow me.

Following the flow of leaving passengers, I went to Le Havre Station Square, filled with horses, carriages, and crews of all colours, types and sizes – absolute pandemonium: the train from Paris attracted drivers from all over the city. I realised that I had a chance to slip away – if I quickly hired a carriage and left, Krasnovski would not have time to do the same.

I allowed the first of the insistent drivers, a red-haired man with a moustache, to pick up my luggage, and I jumped up onto the seat of his convertible and said:

"Angouville Street, quickly!"

The driver immediately flew to his place and shook the reins without even asking me about the price. I turned around. Krasnovski ran after us, making desperate signs to me and shaking his head violently. I couldn't hold back my smile – he couldn't keep up. Less than a minute later, the convertible had already turned off Strasbourg Boulevard and the driver called for the horse to speed up to a very fast trot. Soon, other carriages hid the station square and the running man from view.

For about seven minutes we drove down the boulevard and turned right onto Casimir Perrier street. Here the horse slowed, but I was no longer afraid of being chased. I thought that I would have to book a hotel under a false name again, otherwise Krasnovski would go through all the hotels until he found me. Then, the driver turned into an alleyway between the houses, and the horse came to a stop.

"Sorry, sir, but we did not agree on the price," said the red-haired man, turning to me.

I did not like his look – cold, calculating, tenacious.

"I usually pay three francs to go to Angouville Street," I replied.

"Ten!" he objected.

"Have mercy, this is robbery in broad daylight."

"Ten, and not a cent less."

I was about to protest when a pair of horses pulling a carriage turned into the alley. The driver of the convertible snatched a gun from his jacket and pointed it at me.

"You are right, sir, this is a robbery. Wallet and watch, now!"

I was numb with surprise. I heard a creak from behind, and the second carriage was next to us, completely blocking the way. Two men jumped out, one of whom grabbed my bag and threw it inside the carriage, and the other grabbed my arm like a bulldog.

"Quickly into the carriage if you want to live," the red-haired thug hissed, pointing the gun toward the open carriage door.

I was so stunned that I obeyed them. They pushed me inside and roughly twisted my arm behind my back. Someone's hands cleverly searched my pockets and pulled out my wallet. The whip whistled, and the carriage moved, to who knows where.

"A total of three hundred francs," an unfamiliar, harsh voice said with displeasure.

"Not enough of you? Don't worry, the colonel will add."

Colonel? I went cold. Was Krasnovski right?

"Watch too."

A moment later and I lost my favourite chronometer which had faithfully served me in Paris, Nebraska, and in the forests of the Congo.

I turned my head to the side and tried to look at my captors – and was immediately struck in the side of the head.

"Don't turn your head," the same voice roared with anger and I regretted the scarcity of my wallet.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, trying to keep cool.

"To a safe place. One of your old friends wants to talk with you," said the second thug.

"Englishman?"

"You talk a lot," the first one growled, twisting my arm harder.

A sharp pain caught my breath.

"Don't overdo it, Jacques," the second said. "The colonel said not to injure him."

"And not to hurt," grumbled the first one and he loosened his grip a little.

For several minutes we drove along a cobblestone pavement in a stream of other carriages, then the road became softer, and I heard the rising crash of the surf over the creaking of the wheels. The carriage turned again, the whip snapped, and the horses cantered faster. As far as I could make out, we were moving along the coast to the north, more precisely, to the north-west. Seven minutes later, there was a loud squeak, the carriage stopped, and I heard muffled voices.

"Well, here we are, dear sir," the man called Jacques said with a mocking grin.

The carriage door swung open. Jacques finally let go of my arm, and I was able to straighten up. On the driveway was a tall man with a military bearing, who I immediately recognised – Smith, one of the people of Colonel Spencer.

I paused and got out of the carriage. Smith gave me a cold look, then nodded to someone behind me.

"Everything as agreed," he said. "And you, follow me."

I subtly looked around, but I didn't see much. Behind me, I could see the carriage with curtains drawn, in front of me there was a massive stone house of three of four floors. We walked up to the porch and from there entered through a spacious dark hall and turned right into a short corridor. At one of the doors, Smith stopped, knocked, and I heard "Come in" in a voice I knew well.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

This time, Colonel Spencer did not rise to meet me. He sat at his desk, leaning back in his leather chair, and looked at me with the cold curiosity of an entomologist who had discovered a new kind of cockroach.

In the one and a half years that had passed since our last meeting, his face had become sharper and hardened, his short hair was beginning to turn grey.

"Professor Aronnax, I think we understand each other enough not to beat around the bush. On the first of October, at one o'clock in the morning, you are to meet Dakkar or his men. I'm interested in the meeting place."

I thought I was scared enough already, but no, it was as if an abyss of horror was opening wider and wider in my heart. I was afraid for my life, freedom and pride, but this fear could not be compared with my fear of betraying Captain Nemo and causing his death. I silently looked into the piercing icy eyes of Colonel Spencer and could not understand by what evil miracle he could have read the letter I burned.

"Yes, we understand each other enough," I finally said, and my voice treacherously quivered. "I won't tell you anything. You don't have to waste your time with me."

The colonel smiled genuinely – obviously, he did not expect me to give up quickly.

"Professor, God knows I like you," he said softly. "And I want to understand – why do you persist? I would understand if you were defending your homeland. But what do you, French, care about India? What do you care about savages burning their widows alive, worshiping cows and throwing captive women and children into wells?"

"Dakkar had nothing to do with the Kanpur massacre and you know it," I said sharply, looking Spencer in the eye. "And you burned his wife and son alive when you blew up Fort Bhoj."

"Oh, you're his staunch supporter now," the colonel drawled, squinting.

I shrugged and said nothing.

"If I say that Fort Bhoj exploded by tragic accident, you won't believe me, of course. Nevertheless, this is so – living hostages are much more valuable than dead hostages. However, he resigned his house – it doesn't matter now. As, probably, the fact that Dakkar's daughter was rescued by an English officer."

I was silent. I already regretted that I could not restrain myself and had answered the colonel.

"By the way, is Ishwari on the Nautilus?" He asked, as if making polite conversation.

I lowered my gaze to the floor and gritted my teeth so as not to say a word. I was overwhelmed with fear again, this time from Spencer's devilish insight. I was frightened that he would discover the truth, just by asking me the right questions and watching how my expression changes.

"Why are you silent, professor?" Spencer asked gently. "Do you like her? Pretty girl, yes? Beautiful, noble, smart and bold. I was delighted to learn how cleverly she fooled miss Jones.

"But think, Monsieur Aronnax, what is destined for her? A prison, even luxurious, is still a prison. And, in half a year, a year or five – the Nautilus will inevitably be sunk. And then no one will take into account that Ishwari is not guilty of the crimes of her father – she will die a terrible death along with everyone else. But you can save her."

I was silent.

"You can even visit her in Allahabad."

Spencer's words were poison dripping in my ears. How hard it would have been for me to remain loyal to Captain Nemo if I loved Ishwari the way the colonel thought I did.

"You are wasting your time," I said firmly, looking up at him. "I won't tell you anything."

Spencer's eyes were empty, and a bored expression appeared on his face.

"Well then," he said. "You yourself chose what will happen next."

He looked at Smith who was standing at the door.

"Smith, take Professor Aronnax to the blue bedroom. And do not give him any food or water. You will have time to think, Monsieur Aronnax. Death from thirst is a long death."

* * *

The blue bedroom turned out to be a long narrow room on the third floor, upholstered in faded cornflower blue wallpaper. A high window in the wall opposite the door was sealed by heavy wrought-iron bars. The whole room was furnished with a sofa, a wardrobe, a chair, a small desk and a shelf of books, mostly of culinary content.

When the door closed behind me and the key turned in the lock, the first thing I did was rush to the window to see where I was and if I could call for help. However, only the sea – the gloomy, unpleasant English Channel – was visible from the window. When I moved the chair to the window and stood on it, I saw a narrow pebble beach and waves of white foam rolling up the shore. The house was not more than thirty toises (French measurement – one toise is about 2 metres) from the surf.

Even if I broke the glass of the window and screamed at the top of my lungs, no one would hear me.

I got off the chair and sat down on the sofa, squeezing my temples with cold fingers. It was only now that I fully realised the future that Colonel Spencer had in store for me. There were six days left before the meeting with Captain Nemo. I knew I couldn't take it. I am not one of those heroes who valiantly and proudly accepted any death. If not in three, then in four days, I would break down and betray the captain for a glass of water. And even if Spencer spared my life, I would no longer want it.

I felt horror. A disgusting sticky fear of a living creature in the face of imminent and near death. My thoughts ran around and around in circles looking for a way out but found none.

I had to die before I gave in.

Having made this decision, I calmed down a bit. I remember that I stood by the window for a long time and looked into the grey sea – the sea in which Captain Nemo was and where I was destined never to return. I hoped that one day he would find out that I had not come to his call because I had died, not because I had chosen to stay on land – and forgive me.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

An hour passed, maybe two. Gradually, my despair dulled, and I began to examine my blue dungeon. The wardrobe was empty save for two wooden coat hangers hanging inside. There was no paper, no pens, no ink on the desk. I looked through the books on the shelf, searching for any enclosed leaflets, but did not find anything interesting. I went back to the window, tugged at the iron bars then slipped my hand between them and opened the window. A gust of fresh sea air with small drops of rain burst into the room. If it were not for the bars, I would have torn my shirt into long pieces, knocked the window frame out, and climbed down the window with a makeshift rope. However, Colonel Spencer had not made such gross mistakes.

He'd set a good trap for me. But from almost any trap you can find a way out.

What if the boat from the Nautilus comes to the pier at Dig Nor and does not find me there? I had no doubts that the sailors would not wait – if I had changed my mind about returning to the submarine, or unforeseen circumstances had delayed me, the most reasonable thing for them to do would be return to the ocean immediately. So, I could quite well tell Spencer another meeting place – a convenient, suitable, but false one.

Of course, he won't let me go until he is certain that I'm telling the truth – but by the time he figures out I'm lying, the boat will be gone.

I had to make Spencer believe me.

He believes that unbearable thirst should break me – so I really need to be broken by unbearable thirst. I have enough perseverance to last three days – and by then the "bookworm" Professor Aronnax will be expected to give up and talk. I could even come up with two meeting places – one that is clearly a false attempt to get away and save the Nautilus, and the other that is as plausible and likely as Dig Nor.

For example, I say Dig West. And for the first one I can say Abbey Quay.

I pressed my forehead against the cold iron bars and closed my eyes. I was again walking on eggshells through the Congo, knowing that death was breathing down the back of my neck. Again, I was sitting in a flimsy barn, gripping my gun, as a man-eating tiger roared outside. Again, I struggled with a fragile fishing boat in the middle of a stormy sea. Fear crept in on me, but it did not drive me crazy anymore. I had to beat Colonel Spencer – or die.

The day dragged on and on. I stood at the window, looking at the sea, then began to pace from the window to the door and back. Soon I was hungry and thirsty. I lay down on the sofa to save my strength and stared at the grey rectangle of the window with the black silhouette of the bars. Gradually, the room became enveloped in a deep gloom. I closed my eyes and didn't notice when I fell asleep.

I woke up at dawn from cold and thirst. My mouth was dry and my tongue rough. I got up from the sofa, closed the window, then did a few gymnastic exercises, trying to warm up. I was shivering slightly, and I felt like sand had been poured in my eyes, but overall, my condition seemed quite tolerable. But I knew it would get worse, much worse.

There was nothing for me to think about and nothing to do – just to occupy the time – so I let my thoughts wander as they please, haphazardly jumping from subject to subject. I thought about Conseil and was glad that I hadn't taken him with me. I hoped that his new life would bring him satisfaction and happiness. My faithful fellow was worthy of more than to live all his life as a servant. Will he be able to come to terms with my disappearance? I sincerely hoped so.

I thought about Tadeusz Krasnovski, who was probably looking for me at all the hotels in the city in this very moment. Was he an enemy or a friend, a dangerous madman, or the only hope for salvation? I did not believe him, and he was right – when he spoke of the British spies, and when he tried to stop me leaving with the thug in the convertible.

I thought about Francois d'Orbigny and the months I lived in his house, about Ishwari, about a thousand more things, but the longer time went on, the more my thoughts returned to water and drink. I involuntarily recalled the taste of the homemade wine, with which my friend had generously filled Conseil and my glasses, the play of firelight in the glass, the sour coolness on my tongue – and my mouth watered. I tried to think about Paris, about the Museum of Natural History, about my work – and again I smelled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee prepared by Monsieur Salem, its rich taste and warmth. I remembered the cold clear water distilled from sea water aboard the Nautilus – and it seemed to me I was ready to down glass after glass. The day slowly rolled over to noon, my thirst grew stronger, and soon I couldn't take my mind off it.

Three days? Will I be able to withstand three whole days, if by the evening of the second I am thirsty? My tongue felt swollen in my mouth and it was very difficult to swallow. I could not settle – I sat down on the sofa, immediately jumped up, went to the window, then back to the sofa. Time stretched unbearably. By nightfall, I was beginning to shiver again, and then felt nauseous. My condition was getting worse and worse. My thoughts were jumbled, it was impossible to concentrate. I lay down on the sofa, hoping to fall asleep and pass a few more hours, but sleep would not come. I thought with horror what would happen if Spencer didn't believe me and didn't give me water.

In the morning I finally fell into a restless sleep. I deemed that I was thirsty, wandering around my Paris apartment looking to get drunk, but all the bottle of wines from the bureau were empty, there was no water in the kitchen, and the trees outside the window were dry and blackened.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Waking up was terrible – I had never felt worse in my life. I felt like I was chocking on my own tongue and my lips were chapped. My dry, inflamed eyes were pained by the faint light that seeped through the low clouds over the sea. I knew I couldn't take it anymore.

It was time to start the second part of the plan.

I pounded my fist on the locked door. Pretty soon, I heard heavy footsteps, and Smith called out:

"What do you need?"

"Talk to Colonel Spencer!" I croaked with difficulty.

My jailer left. I heard nothing in the corridor for 10 minutes, then the heavy footsteps returned, I heard a key turn in the lock, the door opened, and I saw Smith. He looked at me appraisingly.

"Follow me."

We went down to the first floor to the same room where I was interrogated last time. Spencer sat in the same leather chair with a glass of water on the table in front of him. At the sight of the glass, my throat tightened with a dry spasm.

"Good morning, Professor Aronnax," the colonel said calmly, looking at me without pleasure or pity. "Are you ready to tell me the meeting place with Dakkar?"

"Yes," I said hoarsely. "We meet at Abbey Quay."

For a few long seconds, Spencer looked into my eyes.

"You're lying," he said coldly.

"Give me some water," I begged hoarsely.

"Only after you tell me the meeting place. The real meeting place."

I closed my eyes. I was shivering again, the thirst seemed unbearable. _Come on_, I said to myself, _come on_.

"Okay," I whispered. "Okay. The boat from the Nautilus will be at the pier at Dig West. I will be taken aboard. Promise me you won't hurt Ishwari."

Spencer was silent, I took a deep breath and made myself look into his eyes. The colonel's gaze seemed to pierce me.

"No," Spencer said slowly. "You are still lying. Think again. Smith, take the professor back to the blue bedroom."

I clenched my teeth as hard as I could to keep from saying another word, lest I say Dig Nor. The glass of water on the table seemed to me at that moment more precious than life, honour, past and future. I followed Smith upstairs, barely able to walk steady, my heart beating in an uneven, ragged rhythm, as If I had suddenly aged a hundred years.

Left alone, I automatically went to the window. Deceiving Spencer did not work, which meant it was time to die. Of course, there was not a single sharp object in the room, but if I carefully broke the window glass, I could choose a suitable fragment and slit my throat. Will I be able to do this quickly enough so that I do not have time to stop myself? Do I have enough determination?

I stood in a daze, unable to move. Dark clouds seemed to sag into the waves, in their ragged crests of which a lone fishing boat rocked near the coast. On the glass I was about to break, large drops of rain drummed – a downpour had begun. Merciful heaven sent the precious moisture to the earth and I could only watch powerlessly as it streamed past me.

Suddenly, a new thought sparked in my mind – the soft fabric of my shirt perfectly absorbed water! I opened the window as far as the iron bars allowed and stretched my hand out. Cold drops clattered into my palm. Still not believing my luck, I pulled my hand back and greedily licked the drops with my dry tongue. Immediately, and almost getting tangled in the fasteners, I tore off my jacket and vest, then my shirt, and swept it out, like a surrendering fortress sweeping out a white flag.

Rain poured from the sky, and soon my shirt was heavy from it and I was overflowing with elation. I was able to get water! Le Havre is a city of rain, and now, at the end of September, it's rare to go a day without rain. And so long as Spencer did not catch me doing this, I'd be able to hold out until the day appointed by Captain Nemo without betraying anyone.

Having waited until the water started to drip from my shirt, I gently pulled it into the room and twisted the sleeve, squeezing the water directly into my mouth. The rainwater tasted of cloth and dust, but now it seemed like the most delicious drink in the world. The rain continued, and, having wrung my shirt almost dry, I again hung it out of the window. Thirst still burned my throat, but my head cleared – and I also had hope.

When the rain weakened to a quiet drizzle, I carefully squeezed the shirt for the last time and closed the window. I was freezing and I was starving. Unfortunately, one battle won did not mean victory in this war. I was still at the mercy of my enemies and I had to behave carefully, so that they would not use more brutal methods to make me speak.

I straightened the shirt and hung it to dry in the wardrobe. If Spencer wanted to interrogate me again, I should be dressed as usual.

* * *

By evening it was clear I was sick. I was constantly shivering, my forehead was burning, and my throat was tightened by pain. And I was thirsty again. I was lying on the sofa, curled in on myself to keep warm, looking thoughtlessly out the window at the dying day behind the bars.

Suddenly, a black shadow flashed through the window – as if an albatross flapped its wings. After a moment, the shadow appeared again, and I realised that it was the legs of a man walking down a rope from the roof. I rushed to the window, opened it – and right before me say Tadeusz Krasnovski.

"You?!" I cried in amazement.

"Quiet, Professor. Quickly, hide in the closet and cover your ears. I'm going to blow the window. When the bars fall, get out the gap and down the rope.

"You are crazy!"

"Do what I say."

I nodded and climbed into the wardrobe, feeling horror, delight and dizziness all at the same time. Krasnovski was clearly mad, but he found me, and now I have as great a chance as any to deceive death and Colonel Spencer.

I closed my eyes and tightly clamped my hands over my ears and waited. For a few minutes nothing happened and then there was a monstrous bang, followed by a metal clang and ringing. The wardrobe shook wildly, several boards cracked and one of the doors came off its hinge. I got out and was hit by the smell of gun powder in the room. I rushed to the now uncovered window.

The window was now a gaping hole and tied to it was a thick rope with Krasnovski already slipping down it. He pulled it tight with his weight, so it was not difficult for me to cling to. A few seconds later we were both on the ground.

"Run!" Krasnovski ordered and darted along the house to the left, keeping close to the side.

Somewhere above us a window opened, then another, voices were heard, and then the sound of the waves was cut by the sharp shots of pistols being fired.

Rounding the house, we rushed up a hill under the protection of large trees. Here, the deep darkness that enveloped the coast changed into pitch black. I had to remember all the skills I had learned on my many expeditions so that I wouldn't stumble on anything and break a leg. Krasnovski was a grey ghost in front of me, sometimes sticks cracked under his feet. A few minutes later we took a wide trail along the coast and turned south.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

An hour later, I was lying in the cabin of an old longboat at the pier of Anse de Joinville, wrapped in several blankets and still shivering from chills. Krasnovski promised that our refuge was safe: according to him, the owners of the longboat only used it in the summer months.

My forehead was burning, my hands were icy, and I couldn't get warm. Taseusz was sitting next to me and again his thin face seemed dreary and dreamy at the same time.

"So, how did you find me?" I asked.

He glanced at me sideways.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes," I said firmly.

"I broke the fingers of the redhead you left with, one at a time."

I was horrified.

"You tortured him?!"

Krasnovski shrugged.

"If it's any consolation, he's treated many of his victims much worse."

"How do you know?"

"I talked to people at the docks."

And, meeting my suspicious glance, added:

"Poles in a foreign country always help each other."

Still, he frightened me. Sometimes very much.

"And how did you know which room I was being held in?"

Krasnovski looked at me with surprise.

"You were waving your shirt out the window."

I laughed hoarsely and coughed. The boat! The fishing boat I saw from the window! How could I have not guessed to take a closer look at it?

"Let's have some more Calvados," said Tadeusz, "and go to bed. And I'll try and get us some food tomorrow."

I nodded and rested my head on the rolled-up blanket that acted as a makeshift pillow. I didn't want to move, didn't want to think. I had to cover my eyes as the room began to spin. I knew that I had a high fever and that in the coming days I would hardly be able walk twenty yards without help.

Krasnovski blew out the kerosene lamp and the cabin became dark. I heard the door creak, then his steps along the deck. The longboat gently rocked, the waves lapped at its sides, and under their calm splashing I fell asleep.

* * *

I remember the next couple of days vaguely. I fell asleep, woke up, fell asleep again. Strange delusional visions interfered with reality, and it seemed to me that I was forever lost in the fog between reality and nothingness.

I dreamed of Colonel Spencer, I dreamed of the mocking glass of water on the desk – and here, in this dream, my lips betrayed me, and I heard my own hoarse whisper: "Dig Nor!". I dreamed of the night, an empty pier, the cold damp wind beating against me, my coat billowing out. I waited again for the boat from the Nautilus, staring keenly into the darkness of the night – and then I remembered that I had betrayed Captain Nemo , and that the Nautilus had been captured by the British and that no one would come for me, ever. It seemed to me that I was lying in the cabin of the longboat, unable to move, and Tadeusz Krasnovski glided up to me, smiling triumphantly – and then I saw that it was not Tadeusz but Colonel Spencer! I was tangled in the chains of a vicious nightmare, from which I could not escape.

Several times I woke up with the distinct feeling that I was late. I would struggle to rise, reach for the chronometer – and then remember that I no longer had it and no way to tell the time. Tadeusz Krasnovski, always near, pressed his palm to my chest, urging me to lay back down, and brought a bottle of water to my lips.

"What date it is?" I asked every time.

"September twenty-eighth," he answered every time. And then he began to answer: "September twenty-ninth."

Time inevitably flowed away like sand between my fingers, but I could not do a thing about it.

In the early hours of September 30th, I was at my worst. I felt squeezed by the stifling darkness, it became unbearably hot, I wanted to drink, I was sweating all over and tossing about, trying to throw off the blankets. At first it seemed to me that I was alone, but then Tadeusz stirred on hi bed, got up, lit the lamp and came up to me. He touched my forehead with his fingertips, then opened the door of the cabin so that the fresh sea air blew through it and wrapped me tightly with the blankets.

"Easy, Professor," he said. "By morning it will be better."

He was right, and I knew that. By morning I really did feel better. My fever subsided and my head finally cleared.

* * *

On the morning of September 30th, I had breakfast for the first time – a bun, a small piece of cheese and a pair of large apples. I swayed from weakness, when I tried to get up and take a few steps around the cabin, I had to grab the wall so as not to fall. I waited a minute as the room stopping spinning and began to walk from the back wall to the door and back again and again, working on my strength. Tadeusz Krasnovski silently watched me.

"Why are you in such a hurry, Professor?" He asked finally. "You will not find anywhere safer than here. The owners of the boat will not be back before May."

"I have an important meeting. I can't miss it."

"An important meeting in scheduled?" Tadeusz said slowly. "And it was for this meeting you came ti Le Havre?"

"Yes."

"And the British captured you because of it?"

I looked at him carefully. Krasnovski's eyes again burned with a cat-like intensity.

"Tandeusz, listen to me," I sighed. "I am very grateful to you for everything…for saving my life, for hiding me, for taking care of me while I was ill. Believe me, if it was only about me, I would take you with me without a second though. But this is not my secret. If I bring you to the meeting place, they may kill you, and I can't stop them."

"I understand," said Krasnovski.

He rubbed his face with his hands, and it appeared his hands were shaking.

"Now listen to me, Professor Aronnax. I live for the sake of Poland's independence and for the rotten world order to be broken. Now the despots are in charge of the fate of the world and only a few live in luxury at the expense millions of poor people. Popular movements are being suppressed all over Europe…all over the world. You know what the Nautilus has become for me – hope, a banner, a guiding star. And I do not want the Tsarist autocracy to drown it, as it drowned Poland in blood. Tell Captain Nemo and Stephen about Aleksandrovskiy's torpedo tests. Do you remember when and where they will be held?"

"I remember, Tadeusz," I said softly. "In the Karkinitsky Bay of the Black Sea, starting from October 15th."

He nodded.

"Good. I'll help you get to the meeting place, then leave. If you go alone, you'll either be caught or you'll have the British on your tail, or maybe someone else. I believe that you know everything about marine life, and more still, but in surveillance and spying, I'm sorry, but you're just a child. If the British still detects us, I will be able to cover you, divert or delay them. And if after that Stephen and his guys decide to kill me – let it be so."

I took a deep breath. Krasnovski was right – alone I would not be able to get to the pier. Colonel Spencer must have placed his people throughout the harbor of Le Havre. In any case, I would have done so if I were him.

"Well, have it your way," I said, "and God help us."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

For the rest of the day, I couldn't settle. I was consumed with unbearable anxiety. I paced the cabin with still unsteady steps, sat down on the bed, got up again, my heart thumping in my chest, I could not concentrate on anything. In a few hours our fate would be decided. Not only that – I knew that the night would decide the fate of the sailors that Captain Nemo would send for me, and perhaps even his own.

If only I could warn the captain! If only I could tell him that in the harbor of Le Havre was his old enemy – an experience enemy, cunning and ruthless. I was terrified that Spencer would hunt down the boat from the Nautilus, capture the sailors, and try to destroy the submarine. If I had the chance, I would reschedule the meeting, travel to New York, Australia, anywhere, just to break away from the surveillance and not risk the captain and his people.

In these long hours of forced inactivity, my brain seemed to be idling, and different versions of the same fear raced through my thoughts. From here, in the cabin of the old longboat, Colonel Spencer seemed to me to be some kind of evil genius – able to read burned letters, guess the thoughts of his enemies and set ingenious traps. Even the longboat no longer seemed safe to me. Afraid of being seen by spies, I did not leave the cabin, even though the close creaking walls pressed in on me like the lid of a coffin. Sometimes it appeared to me that my fever was rising again – as my head was torn by painful thoughts.

Tadeusz Krasnovski remained on the deck almost all the time. I suspect my nervousness irritated him. In the late afternoon he left for reconnaissance. I both trusted and did not trust him. I was afraid that he would be captured, tracked down or followed. However, I also did not trust myself. I was still very weak and understood that I would be a burden for Krasnovski rather than a reliable comrade. What if we must run fast or fight? What if I take an unsteady step and sprain my ankle? In these last hours, the most ridiculous fears drove me crazy.

When Krasnovski returned, it was already dark. It was raining again, and the fishing jacket he had borrowed from the owners of the longboat glistened wet in the light of the kerosene lamp. He took off his cap and shook the water from it, looking at me with a grim expression.

"There are spies everywhere. Most of them are at the entrance to Dig West Pier, but there are enough of them in other places. I'm afraid that we can't go ashore. You, professor, are too conspicuous."

My heart sank.

"What will we do?"

"We'll go by sea, by boat. You lay down, I'll cover you with a blanket. It's dark and pouring rain, no one will notice you. Dress warmly."

He gave me a short, quick look and added:

"It's already night, and I won't go anywhere without you. What is the exact time and place of the meeting?"

I looked at him silently for a minute and could not utter a word – my throat contracted with a nervous spasm.

"Dig Nor," I finally said with difficulty. "One hour after midnight."

Krasnovski nodded.

"Not far away. That's good. A quarter of an hour is enough for us. We will approach the pier from the side of the harbor, I could drop you off…but we'll see. But first…"

He looked at me appraisingly and left the cabin. I heard his footsteps on the deck, then on the ladder leading into the hold. About ten minutes later he returned, carrying a pile of clothes – a jacket, tight sailor pants, a black knitted cap.

"Try these on. And if they fit – get dressed."

"It's theft," I muttered, picking up the rough leather jacket with a torn sleeve. The jacket smelled of tar, fish, and wet canvas.

"Of course it's theft," Krasnovski said mockingly. "Professor, your unblemished white robes fill me with awe. Have you never stolen anything? Even as a child?"

I looked at him briefly and took a breath. He was right – the circumstances did not leave the opportunity to show the required sensitivity.

The jacket was too big and the pants too short. I put on the cap, carefully tucking my hair under it, and turned to Krasnovski. He grinned.

"Excellent, Professor! Now your own mother wouldn't recognise you from ten steps away, let alone the British."

Another hour passed and we left the cabin of the longboat. It was still raining, and the signal lights hardly dispersed the darkness. The pier behind us was completely empty, the far view blocked by numerous vessels of all kinds and sizes, moored to the branching berths of Anse de Joinville. It was a real maze. The sight reassured me a little – we could only be found here if they knew where to look.

We went down to the same fishing boat I had been from the window of my prison. Tadeusz had me lay down on the bottom and covered me with a canvas and sat at the oars. The unbearable anxiety of the last hours has receded and I was seized with a painful excitement.

Spots of signal light floated past, but soon Krasnovski led the boat out of the maze of moored ships, and we were caught and pushed on soft gentle waves. Now above me stretched only darkness, from which the rain drizzled. I could not tell where we were going, I had to trust Krasnovski completely.

Ten minutes later I heard a new sound over the patter of rain and the creaking of the oars – the sound of waves hitting the wall of the pier. Tadeusz turned the boat – the sea was now pushing at a different angle. The roar of the waves grew louder. I admired the simplicity of the Pole's plan – instead of making our way to Dig Nor by port alleys, where Spencer's spies would surely have noticed us, we approached the pier by the shortest route, safely hidden by the darkness of the night.

After another couple of minutes, Tadeusz put the oars down.

"Professor, get up," he said quietly. "We're here."

I pulled back the canvas and sat up. The wall of the pier was only one and a half toises from the left of the boat. The waves lifted our boat up so that the edge of the pier was no more than three feet above, but as the waves lowered us it was meters away. To get to the pier, it was necessary to have the strength and agility of a circus acrobat.

I looked at the black water, at the slippery wall – and it was clear I would not be able to get up.

Krasnovski too looked at the obstacle – and then turned to me.

"Get on the oars, Professor. Bring the boat up close."

"What are you going to do?"

I'll get on the pier and help you out."

"That's mad! You'll fall!"

"Do you have any other ideas?" he asked grimly.

If it had not been for the Nautilus and Captain Nemo, I would have categorically refused to participate in this desperate venture, but Krasnovski had clearly passed his madness onto me. I took the oars and gently brought the broadside of the boat close to the pier. Tadeusz stood on the bench; arms stretched out like a tightrope walker. And, when we ascended on a particularly high wave, jumped to the wall, trying to catch it with his arms and chest. For a few moments I watched in horror as he scraped the wall with the toes if his boots, leaning his body farther and farther on the pier, and then he threw his leg up, rolled over the edge and disappeared.

A few seconds later I saw his shoulders and head above me.

"Catch the wave, professor," Krasnovski said with a gloomy celebration. "And give me your hand."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Without the help of Tadeusz Krasnovski, I would never have climbed the pier. And even with his help, I nearly fell twice into the icy black water. Left alone and having thrown the oars, I could no longer keep the boat close to the wall – the waves not only raised and lowered it, but also rocked it back and forth. The waves either led me directly to the wall, causing the wooden side of the boat to scrape against the grey stone wall with sharp embedded shells or it carried me several feet to the side. Kransnovski was lying on the edge, hanging his chest over and holding out his hand to me, but I could not reach it. In these minutes, I forgot about Spencer's spies, and even about the boat from the Nautilus, all my will was focused on getting to the pier.

Finally, I was lucky – one of the waves not only lifted the boat, but also rocked it to the pier, and Tadeusz immediately grabbed my wrist in a death grip. The boat drifted away from beneath me. I hung over the seething black water, and if Krasnovski's grip were to fail I would likely hit my head on the wall, fall, and not come back up. But he pulled me forcefully toward him and, after a couple of moments, I was able to grab onto the rough edge of the wall with my other hand and somehow scrambled up.

I think I scraped my palms, but at that moment I felt no pain, no cold.

"Excellent, Professor," Krasnovski rasped, panting. "Now lie down and do not move. If you get up, they will immediately spot us. There are too many spies at Dig West. And at the entrance to Dig Nor are probably some too.

"What?"

I turned my head to the southern end of the pier. It was about a hundred toises away; and about the same up to the lighthouse at the northern tip of the neighbouring Dig West. In the murky darkness we couldn't see anything but of course that didn't mean our enemies would not see us.

Kransnovski was lying on his back nearby, watching the rain drizzle from the low overcast sky.

"When the boat comes, we'll still have to get up," I said. "Your boat is gone. How will you get out of here?"

He smiled or grinned.

"I'll think about it when I get you out. Or maybe I won't if Stephen's bullet finds me," and he laughed softly.

I confess his laugh made me shudder.

Time dragged on, and I was beginning to freeze, when Krasnovski suddenly started and rolled to the other side of the pier, facing the ocean. I knew he had heard something and hastily moved closer to him. My heart was beating painfully in my chest, but I no longer left fear – only the ringing tension of the fight.

Soon, among the waves, the silhouette of a boat seemed to glide toward the pier, not directly to us, but to the left. It was impossible to yell, lest we attract attention, so I jumped to my feet and tore of the knitted cap. The wind caught the strands of my hair and tossed them above my head. The boat immediately changed course – they had noticed me. And then, from the north, from the entrance to the pier, a pistol shot rang out, and another one answered it from the south, from the direction of Dig West pier.

"Well, it's begun," Tadeusz exclaimed with delight and rage in his voice, jumping to his feet after me.

At the moonlight flashed over the mass of dark figures in the boat, I realised one of the sailors was taking aim with an electric gun at Krasnovski.

"Don't shoot!" I shouted. "He's a friend!"

The boat was still rapidly approaching the pier, the rowers pulled the oars with military like coherence.

"What's happening?" Came the sharp voice of Stephen.

"It's an ambush! We barely escaped! Please hurry!"

Krasnovski shouted a few words in Polish, his voice ringing with tension.

"Tadeusz?" exclaimed Stephen in amazement.

And then the darkness of the night was illuminated by flashes of gunfire. They were shooting from the north – and not just a couple of spies! I heard the whistle of bullets above my head, ducking quickly.

The rowers lifted the oars at once and the boat continued from its momentum. The one who had been aiming at Krasnovski brought the barrel to the right, and his shoulder jerked several times from the recoil.

From the boat to the wall it was only a couple of toises and with a sign from the helmsman, the sailors turned the boat to us with several powerful strokes.

"Into the boat, both of you, quickly!" – ordered the First Mate of the Nautilus.

I jumped into the boat – and then someone's strong hands unceremoniously pushed me down below the side of the boat. Krasnovski jumped next – and he, like me, was pushed to the bottom. The oars hit the water at once, and I felt the boat lurch forward. Le Havre, Dig Nor and Colonel Spencer were left behind. We travelled into the open ocean, headed for the Nautilus.

Shots were becoming more frequent. Two or three times, bullets hit the side of the boat, and sometimes I heard a whistle right above my head. I was shaking with relief and anxiety, I longed to know how far we had gone and whether we were being pursued, but as soon as I began to rise, a heavy hand pushed me down.

"Lie still, Professor," Stephan grumbled. "If a stray bullet finds you, what will I tell the captain?"

Beside me, Tadeusz muttered something in Polish, but unlike me, he didn't even try to resist.

The sound of the gunfire became duller, the bullets stopped whistling past – apparently, we had moved out of range. As far as I could tell, none of the sailors were injured. Low gentle waves rolled smoothly towards us and their incessant gentle noise sounded like the living breath of the ocean. The dark night concealed us on the channel, hiding us from bullets and pursuit.

It was about a quarter of an hour later when Stephen finally stood up and spoke a few words in the Nautilus crew's dialect. The rowers laid down their oars. Turning my head, I saw we were no loner surrounded by impenetrable darkness – a soft diffused electric light now cast upon the boat. The Nautilus rose to the surface, marking its way with a phosphoric glow, and at the sight, my eyes watered.

I was back.


	14. Chapter 14

Many thanks to Myra R and NoeNoel for reviewing! NoeNoel, I'll make sure to send you a PM and pass your review onto Kerisa :)

Chapter 14:

The sea water roared and parted over the steel deck of the Nautilus as the submarine surfaced. Tadeusz also got to his feet. He looked mesmerised by the underwater ship, and amazement and delight shone on his face like a child who witnessed a miracle. Shining with electric light, covered with armour, the Nautilus looked like the embodiment of cold beauty and technical power, a living messenger of the coming twentieth century.

Stephen turned to Tadeusz and spoke in Polish – as I understood from what followed, he said that he would be searched. Krasnovski answered with a faint smile and obediently spread his arms out. One of the sailors deftly patted him down, pulled out his pockets and drew a dagger in a sheath from somewhere. I would not have been surprised if a pistol has been revealed, but Krasnovski did not have any firearms on him.

Meanwhile, a hatch opened on the deck of the submarine, and Captain Nemo and several crew members climbed up. I was trembling, and it was hard to breathe. The captain's expression did not bode well. Of course, Nemo noticed Krasnovski, as he noticed me, but he only looked at his First Mate. Stephen answered the captain with a grim look, and I realised he was prepared to defend his decision.

The boat was being secured into the platform, and we crossed the deck. Nemo spoke sharply with Stephen in his own dialect. Stephen answered calmly and confidently. Tadeusz regarded the captain of the Nautilus with obvious curiosity and, when their eyes met, silently bowed to him.

Finally, Nemo gave an order, and Krasnovski was taken somewhere inside the ship – as I suspected, into the same dungeon room where Conseil and I had been sometimes locked. After that, the captain came up to me.

"Monsieur Aronnax, I am waiting for an explanation," he said in an icy tone.

I confess, I was taken aback. At this moment, I felt more aware then ever as to how I was presented – dirty, clothing torn in places, dishevelled hair. I remembered that I had not had a bath since Paris and had not brushed my hair since the train.

"Please excuse me, Captain, I am inappropriate. If you allow me, I will put myself in order and then I will tell everything. It's a long story; I can't tell it in three words."

Nemo gave me a close look, and in the depths of his pupils something seemed to flinch.

"Well, in an hour I'll be waiting for you in the library," he said softer.

The crew who had been putting the boat away were now descending the hatch one by one. On the deck, expect for me and the captain, there was only Stephen. I thought they would want to talk together privately, so I bowed to Nemo and went to the hatch.

An hour later, I was washed, hair brushed, dressed in clean fine linen, and again felt like Professor Aronnax, and not a fugitive criminal, hiding from justice at the bottom of society. The ringing tension of the last hours left me, now I felt physically weak again, and a slight fever. The upcoming conversation with the captain made me nervous, but the nervousness was tinged with a dark sweetness, not icy horror. Perhaps I was growing accustomed to being interrogated! However, from Captain Nemo – unlike Colonel Spencer – I had only one secret, the events that occurred did not involve it at all, so I was ready to tell him everything sincerely and truthfully.

* * *

When I arrived at the library, the captain was waiting for me – and turned quickly to meet me as soon as I opened the door.

"And here you are, professor," he said, and it seemed to me impatiently. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank-you."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"I don't know, probably not," I answered honestly. With all that had happened, food was the last thought on my mind.

The captain looked at me intently and, perhaps, with concern. It occurred to me that he probably had already spoken with Tadeusz Krasnovski and knew what had happened, at least from his point of view.

"Please sit down."

I sat down on one of the leather sofas that ran along the bookcases. Nemo remained standing; his eyes fixed on me.

"Now, Monsieur Aronnax, tell me everything."

And so I told him. I told him about how I returned to Paris, about how I depicted my recovery from measles, about Conseil, the contract I got him with the Museum of Natural History. When I started telling him about the new book I was going to write in the Norman village, a strange smile appeared on the captain's face.

"Professor, I am surprised that you have not advertised in the newspapers."

Honestly, I did not immediately understand what he meant.

"Anyone who knows you and Conseil wouldn't believe that story for a second," the captain explained. "Professor, I'm afraid to ask what you were thinking at that moment and whether you thought at all. You might as well have told everyone you were going back to the Nautilus."

I remembered the suspicious look that the Director of the Museum had given me which I hadn't paid much attention to. The familiar picture of the past events crumbled into pieces and reassembled like a colour pattern in a kaleidoscope after a turn.

"I wanted Conseil's life to go well," I mumbled, feeling like the last fool.

"Yes, you thought about Conseil, but you didn't think about yourself. However, go on."

I talked about the first meetings with Tadeusz Krasnovski, about the new miracle torpedoes of the Russian engineer Aleksandrovskiy, about how Tadeusz tracked me down on the train and how he warned me about the British surveillance. I told him about the bandit coachman, the abduction, the first interrogation of Colonel Spencer, and the letter that had been clearly intercepted. Nemo no longer smiled; his dark eyes were burning on his now pale face.

"On the night of September 28…," he muttered, obviously to himself. "They didn't let you drink for three days?"

I nodded. The I told him about how I collected rainwater in my shirt, how Krasnovski, seeing it in the window, discovered where they were holding me, about our escape, the refuge on the old longboat, about my illness and how Tadeusz helped me get to the appointed meeting place.

"I'm sorry, captain, but if he had stayed behind, I'm afraid the British would have killed him. Or captured and tortured him until he gave up all the information about the torpedoes…and Stephen."

Nemo turned away abruptly. His chest heaved heavily, his hands were clenched into tight fists, his whole appearance breathed anger. I realised with fear that he was again seized by that old hatred, only slightly extinguished in recent years, and regretted that I had not excluded some details. I myself did not hate Colonel Spencer and did not want to take revenge on him.

However, when the captain finally spoke, his voice sounded calm, but cold.

"Professor Aronnax, do you understand that I won't let you go anymore? Not because I do not trust you, but because it is too dangerous. You have become an enemy of the British Empire, they know that we are connected, and will pursue you everywhere as a crew member of the Nautilus. Now, they will not leave you alone in Paris, nor in New York, nor in China, nor in the forests of the Congo. And God forbid that you ever fall into their hands again."

"I understand that perfectly, Mister Dakkar," I said quietly. "And I did not return to the Nautilus to leave it. Becoming a member of your team is my own choice, not a necessity dictated by circumstances."

Nemo turned and stared at me.

"It's late, you're unwell, and you've had a very hard week," he said a minute later. "Rest. Tomorrow we'll talk about our plans."

I bowed silently to him and went to my cabin.


End file.
